


The Grinch: A Chuck Hansen Exclusive

by dont_look_at_the_light



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Christmas Eve, Chuck misses his mommy, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Loving Angst, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-08 05:07:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12857382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dont_look_at_the_light/pseuds/dont_look_at_the_light
Summary: The Becket Boys loves Christmas a lot, but the Chuckles who lived two bunks north of the Beckets did not!





	The Grinch: A Chuck Hansen Exclusive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GutterBallGT (GutterBall)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GutterBall/gifts).



> Love you all! Don’t forget to review! This started out as a Chaleigh fic, but my schmoopy emotions and love of the holidays took it a WHOLE different direction.
> 
> ENJOY!

In a big city, Hong Kong it is called, sat the last ever Shatterdome, where our story has stalled…

The Becket boys who lived there loved Christmas a lot, but the Chuckles who lived just two bunks north of the Beckets did not.

He huffed, and he puffed, and he—wait, wrong story…

Now Chuck hated Christmas, the whole Christmas season. But please don’t ask why, we all know the reason.

When Charlie was small, the Holidays were a time for celebration! Now, without Mum, he just cuddles Max in commiseration.

Whatever the reason, his tortured young soul, he sat in the mess hall hating what Scissure stole.

He knew every Becket within the ‘Dome, would be making everywhere look like the tackiest possible home. They’ll hang tinsel and garland of the tackiest sort. Hell, the whole thing made him angrily snort.

Glaring up from his table with a sour, Hansen glare he snarled, “tomorrow is Chrissie, it’s practically here.”

He pulled his beloved dog Max up by his bow (goddamn Becket's, when the hell did THAT get there?!). “I must stop this Christmas from coming, but HOW?!”

For tomorrow, he knew, those damned Becket boys would wake bright and early, and run screaming down the halls acting quite squirrelly.

Then those two damn bastards would somehow have toys and the noise, oh the noise, so much goddamn noise NOISE!

Then those Becket's, young and old, would gather all the people they’d somehow fleeced and they’d feast and they’d feast and they’d FEAST FEAST FEAST FEAST!

They’d feast on lumpy pudding, they’d feast on burnt cheese, they’d even feast on crappy caf roast beef. UGH! Roast beef is something Chuck can’t stand in the least.

And then, he knew for sure, they’d do something worst of all… The Russians would find some vodka and they’d all drunkenly squall. And they’d squall and they’d squall and they’d squall SQUALL SQUALL SQUALL!

The more he thought about this Becket Christmassing the more that Chuck thought, “I must stop this whole thing! For way too long I’ve put up with it now, I must stop this Becket insanity, but how?!” (Max was no help, just sat there looking adorable.)

Then Chuck got an idea. An awful idea. Chuck got a brilliant awful idea. “I know just what to do,” he chuckled in his throat, and he ran to the Becket bunk to nick a Santa Claus hat and a coat.

“What a genius Hansen trick, with this hat, and this coat I’ll look just like St Nick! Now all I need is a reindeer to pull my wagon…” The words scarcely said and Max tried to run.

“If I can’t find a reindeer, I’ll make one instead!” He grabbed the running Max, and he took some red thread, and he tied a random stick to the top of his head.

Then he loaded some bags and some old empty sacs on his beat-up old cart and he whistled for Max.

The first stop on his list was the dark pilot room, he slipped and he slunk into the darkness and gloom.

All the stockings were hung by the cutout fireplace with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas (really guys, you’re pushing 30) soon would be there. 

He bagged up the stockings, he bagged up the presents, he even bagged up the Christmas Day pheasant.

He took everything, that bitter Chuck did. He refused to have Christmas since he was a kid. If he couldn’t rush down to wake up his mum then he’d be damn sure that no one had fun.

Until he came across one brightly wrapped package, tucked away and hidden almost behind the fridge.

To Chuck, Love Dad said big bow-shaped tag. This package was his?! All filled up with swag?! It was small and square, his alleged gift. And beautifully wrapped, yet so light to lift.

Almost midnight, he ripped open the box and found inside something so shocking and lost.

A framed picture if young Charlie helping his mum decorate some cookies on Chrissie long ago, the only thing that could make it more perfect is if there had been some snow (apparently that’s a thing?).

He hugged his new trinket as he unloaded his cart, he put everything back exactly as those Beckets were smart.

One last stop before going to bed, was a conversation at one time he might dread, but tonight he was happy as he knocked on the door, waiting to hear a lull in the snore.

A bedraggled Herc pulled it open confused, at the two armed bear hug that could not be refused.

“Thanks Dad.” Actions speak louder than words.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Love you all!


End file.
